ficlet: Crawford's cold (White Butterfly) for stratospherique
Crawford’s Cold - a WB side story for Stratospherique
This is set later than I currently am, but not as far as the last one, perhaps two or three years into their relationship but before the death of Takatori. So spoilers, there are mention of characters yet to be introduced to you (the last members of Aya’s retinue, Moon and Star) other than that, there should be none
Aya tied the perfumed cloth tight about his face before he turned to his retinue. With the exception of Naoe, whose chest remained too weak for such diligent attentions, they were all prepared to help. Ken carried a heavy brazier, piled high with hot coals, Star carried a tray of willow bark tea and hot cherry stones wrapped in a cloth bag. Moon carried a fresh futon, and even little Sena trailed along carrying a bottle of camphor oil, and a larger bottle of lavender scented skin oil. They had refused to let their master carry anything, but regardless, Aya held a pot of hot soapy water. He checked that they all had a cloth over their face because they couldn’t risk carrying an infection back to Naoe.
Crawford was a lump in the middle of the room, snoring loudly through layers of snot with his futon pulled up tight about his neck. His mouth was open and his lips were cracked. Aya nodded to his small retinue and they placed their cargo down and then bowed to Aya, Moon’s eyes were mischievous as he did it where he normally scowled, and then he ushered the rest of them, even Ken out of the room, before Aya woke his master.
Once they were gone Aya tugged away the perfumed kamen so it hung around his neck and started taking one of the bowls from Star’s tray he added a little hot water and some of the camphor oil and set it on the brazier to scent the room. “Master,” he said softly, “wake up.”
Crawford’s eyes were gummy when he opened them, and he had to blink several times to remove the crusts that had formed. Then he winced. “Still feel terrible?” Aya asked although it really wasn’t a question. “I brought you some willow bark tea.”
Crawford offered him a weary smile as he pulled himself up so he sat and looked at what Aya had brought him. “Triad to bake be bore cobtable?” Crawford asked taking the tea and sipping it, though his lips obviously stung.
“More that you smell of sickness and Baba decreed that you would not get better sleeping in your own filth, your fever has broken and it would do you good to get the stink from your skin.”
“Always so forbal?” Crawford asked and then began a long and hacking cough.
Aya snatched the cloth from his throat and offered him. He took it as an opportunity to avoid the question. “I have a hot pack for your neck, hot water and a fresh yukuta for you to wash, and a fresh futon for you. I also thought that you would like a massage.”
Crawford sipped the tea. “You are ab adgel,” he said pouring out more of the bitter tea.
Aya just snorted out a laugh, “out of that yukuta, come on.” He took the piece of cloth from the tea and dipped it in the water as his master stripped down in front of him and then started to efficiently wash him down.
“I cad go do de bad.” Crawford told him.
“Not until Baba lets you out of this room.” Aya answered, actually understanding what he was saying through the phlegm.
After he was washed Crawford had to admit he felt better, and the view of Aya in a pair of Naoe’s shorts as he carried the water to the door was stirring, a pity he really was too sick to appreciate it. The fumes from whatever Aya had resting in the brazier really were helping to clear his head. He fumbled with the other futon to roll it out and then carefully climbed unto it. Aya, as he came back, laughed at the gesture, his normally austere and perfect master fumbling about like a goblin. “Unto your front,” Aya said indulgently, “I’ll give you a massage.”
Crawford gave a happy sigh and rolled unto his belly. Aya just smiled as he poured the oil unto his hands, rubbing it in to warm it.
Crawford’s back was strong and firm with only the lightest layer of fat and as much as he might like to deny it Aya loved to touch it, to feel it with his fingertips, to drive his nails in to it to pull Crawford closer, deeper. He would never admit it, even to himself. But he sat astride Crawford and rubbed and pulled the oil into the skin, forcing it against the muscles and feeling them unknot and relax under his skin. He had laid the hot cherry stones in their bag over Crawford’s neck and he could feel him veritably melt.
When he was done and Crawford was a boneless mass on the futon he laid the blanket over him and went to leave.
“Sday,” Crawford told him and patted the bed, “dode wadda go back do sleeb.”
Aya shook his head and sat down next to the futon, running long white fingers through Crawford’s hair, “by your will, master.”
This is set later than I currently am, but not as far as the last one, perhaps two or three years into their relationship but before the death of Takatori. So spoilers, there are mention of characters yet to be introduced to you (the last members of Aya’s retinue, Moon and Star) other than that, there should be none
Aya tied the perfumed cloth tight about his face before he turned to his retinue. With the exception of Naoe, whose chest remained too weak for such diligent attentions, they were all prepared to help. Ken carried a heavy brazier, piled high with hot coals, Star carried a tray of willow bark tea and hot cherry stones wrapped in a cloth bag. Moon carried a fresh futon, and even little Sena trailed along carrying a bottle of camphor oil, and a larger bottle of lavender scented skin oil. They had refused to let their master carry anything, but regardless, Aya held a pot of hot soapy water. He checked that they all had a cloth over their face because they couldn’t risk carrying an infection back to Naoe.
Crawford was a lump in the middle of the room, snoring loudly through layers of snot with his futon pulled up tight about his neck. His mouth was open and his lips were cracked. Aya nodded to his small retinue and they placed their cargo down and then bowed to Aya, Moon’s eyes were mischievous as he did it where he normally scowled, and then he ushered the rest of them, even Ken out of the room, before Aya woke his master.
Once they were gone Aya tugged away the perfumed kamen so it hung around his neck and started taking one of the bowls from Star’s tray he added a little hot water and some of the camphor oil and set it on the brazier to scent the room. “Master,” he said softly, “wake up.”
Crawford’s eyes were gummy when he opened them, and he had to blink several times to remove the crusts that had formed. Then he winced. “Still feel terrible?” Aya asked although it really wasn’t a question. “I brought you some willow bark tea.”
Crawford offered him a weary smile as he pulled himself up so he sat and looked at what Aya had brought him. “Triad to bake be bore cobtable?” Crawford asked taking the tea and sipping it, though his lips obviously stung.
“More that you smell of sickness and Baba decreed that you would not get better sleeping in your own filth, your fever has broken and it would do you good to get the stink from your skin.”
“Always so forbal?” Crawford asked and then began a long and hacking cough.
Aya snatched the cloth from his throat and offered him. He took it as an opportunity to avoid the question. “I have a hot pack for your neck, hot water and a fresh yukuta for you to wash, and a fresh futon for you. I also thought that you would like a massage.”
Crawford sipped the tea. “You are ab adgel,” he said pouring out more of the bitter tea.
Aya just snorted out a laugh, “out of that yukuta, come on.” He took the piece of cloth from the tea and dipped it in the water as his master stripped down in front of him and then started to efficiently wash him down.
“I cad go do de bad.” Crawford told him.
“Not until Baba lets you out of this room.” Aya answered, actually understanding what he was saying through the phlegm.
After he was washed Crawford had to admit he felt better, and the view of Aya in a pair of Naoe’s shorts as he carried the water to the door was stirring, a pity he really was too sick to appreciate it. The fumes from whatever Aya had resting in the brazier really were helping to clear his head. He fumbled with the other futon to roll it out and then carefully climbed unto it. Aya, as he came back, laughed at the gesture, his normally austere and perfect master fumbling about like a goblin. “Unto your front,” Aya said indulgently, “I’ll give you a massage.”
Crawford gave a happy sigh and rolled unto his belly. Aya just smiled as he poured the oil unto his hands, rubbing it in to warm it.
Crawford’s back was strong and firm with only the lightest layer of fat and as much as he might like to deny it Aya loved to touch it, to feel it with his fingertips, to drive his nails in to it to pull Crawford closer, deeper. He would never admit it, even to himself. But he sat astride Crawford and rubbed and pulled the oil into the skin, forcing it against the muscles and feeling them unknot and relax under his skin. He had laid the hot cherry stones in their bag over Crawford’s neck and he could feel him veritably melt.
When he was done and Crawford was a boneless mass on the futon he laid the blanket over him and went to leave.
“Sday,” Crawford told him and patted the bed, “dode wadda go back do sleeb.”
Aya shook his head and sat down next to the futon, running long white fingers through Crawford’s hair, “by your will, master.”